Shadowlands (44 page)

“Uh-huh.” Nik put down his sugar spoon and took a sip of his espresso. “What are we supposed to be negotiating?”

“The surrender of the Shadowlands to the Hunt.”

“Holy Mother of God.” Nik found he was on his feet. By some miracle his coffee was still in its cup. “And
that’s
what you want my help with?”

Alejandro was patting the air in front of him with his hands, but it was Hawk who spoke.

“Did you not hear him? He said ‘
under the guise
.’ It is not our intention to do any such thing.” The Rider leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “If the Horn is found, we can call all of the Hunt to a single place. But if it is not?” Nik leaned forward, willing himself to concentrate. “Then we must locate as many as possible not only of the Hunt, but of the Riders allied with them.” Hawk paused, frowning, a small line between his auburn brows. “We cannot know which way our plans may go. Whatever happens, we must know their strengths, where they are, where they hide.”

“And it’s my thought,” Alejandro cut in, “that you Outsiders can help us with this. For one, you are able to distinguish between stable Hounds and Riders, something we cannot always do.”

Nodding, Nik sank back into his seat. “Yeah. I see how this could play out. The more we know about them—well, it’s not wasted, even once the Horn’s found.” Elaine would probably want to start a new spreadsheet. He looked up at the faces above him. “I’m in.”

“You can speak for your people?”

Nik thought about what he’d said to Elaine. What had she called him? The sheriff? “Yes, I can.” Nik stood, pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.

“Nik?”

The voice came again. Not the first time. He blinked. He was standing up. He was holding a cell phone. Had he been planning to make a call?

“What has happened to him?”

He looked up. Riders. Alejandro. Hawk. He’d come here to get their help. He needed their help.

“Help me,” he said aloud.

“What can we do?” Hawk led him to a seat. Took hold of his hands.

“I feel so stupid.”

“You must tell us what the problem is.” Alejandro sounded far away.

“Here.” Another voice. A sharp sting on his cheek. “Look at me.”

Nik focused. Why was this so difficult? “A red-tailed Hawk,” he said. He felt his mouth smiling.

“Let me show you what I really look like.” Suddenly there was a younger-looking man, still square-built, but bigger, taller. Crouching on his heels. Holding on to Nik’s hands. His coloring shifted until his hair was the dark red of a full-bodied wine, his skin flushed bronze, and his eyes sienna. Hawk smiled, and Nik felt his heart beat faster.

“Oh,” he said. “I’ve emptied. Damn. I didn’t think I was this close.” He took a deep breath, though he knew that wouldn’t help him to pull himself together.
This has happened before
, he reminded himself. Nothing he couldn’t handle. He looked down at his phone. Licked his lips. Felt the phone being taken from his hand.

A voice murmuring in the background. Hawk’s eyes, his hands gripping. Nik sighed.
Do I know who this is?

“Belmont House,” the background voice said.

“What’s the intersection?” Hawk asked. Hawk. That was his name. “I can Move us there.”

“Do you know the place?” Alejandro’s voice.

“I’ve known Toronto since it was a trading post. What’s the intersection?”

“Yonge and Aylmer.” It took Nik a minute to realize that he’d answered the question himself.

“Stand up. Come now. Put your hand on my shoulder.” Hawk again.

He didn’t really see the point, but Nik placed his hand on the Rider’s left shoulder. There was a POP! in his ears, and they were standing on the southwest corner of Yonge and Aylmer. Tucking Nik’s arm under his own, Hawk—who now looked once again like his human self—walked him into the building.

“Nik Polihronidis,” he said to the man behind the counter.

“I’ll look after this, Carl, thanks.”

Nik wouldn’t have turned around if he’d been alone, but Hawk did, so Nik did, too. Poco was just coming through the revolving door. He’d been the one who’d spoken. He looked at Hawk and his eyes narrowed. They stayed that way when they shifted to Nik.

“Nik, you okay?”

How did Poco get here?
Suddenly Nik knew where he was, and why.
I’m empty.
He swallowed. “I can’t do this,” he said. He took a deep breath and straightened, no longer leaning on Hawk. The Rider didn’t quite let him go.

“Dude.” Shaking his head, Poco put his hand on Nik’s arm. “Nik, how could you let it get so far?”

“What has happened?” Nik felt Hawk’s grip tighten.

“He gave up his turn,” Poco said. “To help his friend Elaine. And he hasn’t taken any
dra’aj
since.”

“I can’t.” Nik took another deep breath. He couldn’t seem to get enough air. “I can’t take someone else’s place.”

“It’s okay, there isn’t anyone else close enough to be in danger.”

Nik shook his head. “That isn’t the point.”

“It is, man it
is
. Yves organized it. Him and the next two in line, they shared the last donor. So this one’s not spoken for, this one’s yours.”

“Nikos Polihronidis, son of Andreas and Christina, is this how you accept aid? You wish for us to help you, but you will not help yourself?” Hawk’s voice was rich, warm. Nik tried to concentrate on it.

“I knew what I was doing.” They’d get it, or they wouldn’t. “I knew what I was doing when I gave mine to Elaine. I’ll be okay in a little while. I’ve lived through this before.”

“But we need you now, not in a little while.”

“What difference does it make?” Nik couldn’t be sure that he’d spoken aloud. If they’d only leave him be for a minute, he’d be okay. Why couldn’t they leave him?

“Nik, look at me.” His head was heavy, but there was something in the jewel-like tone of Hawk’s voice that made him look up. He saw Nighthawk again. Everything had been dim, colorless, leached of meaning, but that strange, unearthly beauty made everything live again.

“Holy crap.”

Nik smiled. That was Poco’s voice.

“Come on, man. Come with me. Carl, I’m taking Nik in to see Mrs. Lopez. You stay here.”

Nik felt himself being tugged to his left.

“Go, you must go now.”

He looked back as Poco led him away. He was seeing Nighthawk’s
dra’aj
. So much of it, so beautiful. For a moment, as they turned the corner into the hallway, he thought it wasn’t the Rider he saw in the lobby, but a silvery dragon, glowing brighter than the sunlight coming in the windows.

Nik concentrated on breathing, in and out, in and out, as he let Poco lead him down the corridor to Mrs. Lopez’s room. When they entered, he could see her
dra’aj
floating in the air around her like particles of colored light almost too small for the eye to register. Not as bright as the dragon he’d just seen, but “Lots more colors,” he said.

Poco led him up to the dying woman, and Nik took her hand in his. “Hello, Sylvia,” he said.

“Is this it?”

His head felt like lead as he nodded.

“About friggin’ time.” The twinkle left Sylvia’s eyes and joined the
dra’aj
in the air and it swept through him, the feeling suddenly hot as if a million bees stung him at once and then cold. For a moment Nik felt as though he would vomit, and then the nausea passed and he straightened from the bedside. He turned to find Poco regarding him with hard eyes.

“Thank you,” he said.

Poco looked down and licked trembling lips. “Just make sure I don’t have to do it again. Don’t be so stupid next time.” He turned away, and Nik let him get a little ahead before following him out of the room.

We didn’t just find shoes at the hostel upstream, we found horses. Cloud Horses to be exact, asleep in their stalls and perfectly still, dreaming of the time someone would come for them and they could Ride. They were all the same color, a soft dappled gray, so I
could tell where their name came from. Their white manes were long and curling, and they seemed rather delicately boned for horses.

“They are perhaps a little larger than you are accustomed to, in the Shadowlands,” Wolf said.

“I’m not used to
any
horses.” I stretched out my hand, but stopped short of actually touching the horse nearest me. “I’ve never seen a real horse. I mean, live, right in front of me.” I was babbling a bit; I have to admit I was nervous at the idea of climbing on top of one of these. Their backs looked an awfully long way from the ground.

We had gone into the hostel first, where Wolf had almost immediately found a clothes press. It looked no larger than the armoire that I’d had in my bedroom in Madrid, but he kept pulling clothing out of it until the dresses and cloaks and shoes started to pile up on the floor. Finally, he’d pulled out a pair of breeches not unlike his own, but in a soft brown. They were followed by a long-sleeved, cowl-necked top in some light knit, a golden yellow, and a jacket with a nipped waist of some tougher dark brown material. Short boots matched the jacket, and I was set.

I did find the clothes puzzling at first, until I realized I wasn’t getting any read off them, not even dim flashes of the workers who’d made them. When I asked Wolf about it, he looked puzzled for a minute. His response gave me the shivers. Sort of.

“No one made these. It is the function of the cupboard to provide clothing.”

I decided not to try touching the cupboard.

The request for him to turn around while I was changing got me another puzzled look, but he did it. I put the breeches on first, and pulled my linen dress off with a quick tug. I slipped the long-sleeved top over my head and shook my hair loose—then gripped the side of the cupboard after all, as the world tilted out of balance and back again.
Right. Note to self. Don’t shake head.

The shirt formed itself around me as if it had been made for me, almost like a second skin. I couldn’t tell what material it was made out of, but it was light and airy, and warm and comfortable at once. Likewise, the boots pulled on as though they were gloves, with no socks needed. Everything felt as though it had been made right on me, and if it wasn’t for the constant queasiness of my stomach, and
the way the world tilted again when I leaned over to pick up the jacket, I would have been enjoying myself.

Now I looked at the Cloud Horses and bit my lip.

“Do we have to ride?” I asked Wolf. “It’s just that, the movement of the horse—I mean, I’ve read that it can be quite unsteady, and I’m not feeling all that hot just standing here.”

“We have no idea how far we have to travel.” Wolf frowned, looking from the horse to me and back again. “And we have no idea what is required of us to find or create a Horn. We must travel as quickly as we can.”

“Can’t you just Move us?” The thought of that horse rocking under me while it trotted or cantered or whatever horses did was already making me queasy. Queasier.

“To my knowledge, I have never been to the Ice Tor,” he said. “No Rider can Move where they have never been themselves—some can Move to a person, or to a piece of their own
gra’if
, but only those with great skill, or great
dra’aj
. No, I am afraid we must Ride.” He took the head of the nearest horse between his two hands and breathed into its nostrils.

“Wake, brother,” he said softly. “I have need of you. It is time to Ride.”

What had been an incredibly lifelike statue of a horse slowly, very slowly, came awake. Starting at the muzzle, as if Wolf’s breath had blown life into it, the animal’s color deepened, the small hairs on the coat moved as the skin beneath them tightened, and suddenly the air was warmer, and had the most beautiful smell of cut grass. Wolf had gone on to the next beast in line by this time, and this first one startled me by suddenly turning its head and looking me in the face. I gritted my teeth and managed not to step back.

Like I said, I’d never seen a live horse before, so I had no idea whether they all had this same intelligent, measuring look in their eyes.

“Can you talk?” I asked him. The horse didn’t answer, and I caught Wolf looking at me from around the neck of the horse he was waking. “I guess that was a stupid question,” I said. “But I don’t know how things work around here.”

“Not so stupid.” Wolf came out from behind the other horse with what looked like a saddle made out of cobwebs in his hands. “Walks
Under the Moon says that some of them do speak. But,” he shrugged. “It is not always easy to tell which of them these are. She says Lightborn can—could, teach the skill.”

He swung the saddle up onto the back of the horse nearest me and stepped away. Apparently, the saddle fastened itself, because Wolf certainly didn’t do any of the buckling and tugging on straps and things that I’d seen on television. He put his hand on the horse’s nose and spoke again.

“This is a friend to us, and to the High Prince of the Lands,” he said. Whether the horse spoke or not, Wolf certainly appeared to think he would understand. “I ask you, give her a sure Ride, a soft Ride, and do not let her fall.”

The Cloud Horse nodded, swinging his great bony head up and down, and I almost laughed, it looked so much like someone doing a stupid pet trick on Letterman. The moment the horse turned to look at me, blinking his great dark eyes, all inclination to laugh disappeared.